Drabbles
by TheMapofHistory
Summary: Drabbles I've written on tumblr, mostly requests. Lot's of FrUK, some RusAme, occasional genderbending.
1. RusAme

**Request for colonial!America meeting Russia**

Alfred had been out in the small field behind the house he lived in with England, laying on his back and watching the clouds lazily drift by. They were _so far up_…

He loved the sky. It was so high, limitless, _powerful_, even. He wished _he_ was taller…

"America!" Arthur called. "Get in here!"

Alfred sat up, momentarily confused. Why was Arthur…?

Oh! That was right! Arthur had said something about a visitor coming by. Arthur hadn't gone into much detail, but he said the man was a mysterious nation who usually kept to himself, but was becoming more involved in European affairs. A note of distaste had entered his tone when he discussed the unnamed country, but it was similar to how Arthur sounded when he tried to get Alfred to stop playing with buffalo, so Alfred's mind was already made up that he liked the stranger.

Scrambling to his feet, Alfred bolted towards the house, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Skidding to the back door, Alfred found his path blocked as he collided with what seemed to be a solid wall. Taking a step back and blinking, he felt his jaw drop as he looked up.

It was a man. A _huge_ man, his head appearing to touch the sky itself.

"Privyet, malish," he said in a deep voice, sounding faintly amused.

"Hey," Alfred whispered in awe, eyes shining.

_I'm going to be as tall as him someday!_


	2. Spamano

**_Request_**__: Fic request I suppose? (I hope I'm posting in the right place). I have no idea for a plot, but I love Spamano. Different things I like in fanfictions are hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, and sometimes mpreg. *shot* I'm really sensitive when it comes to death, so that's pretty much the only thing I don't like. I hope that's enough information?__

Lovino grinned to himself. This plan was perfect, simply perfect, Christ he was such a genius, he-

_"Y-you're sure this is safe?"_

_Brilliance came with a price. Lovino took a deep breath to steady himself. He he lost his temper at this moment, as he often did, it would all be ruined. So he calmly turned around on his Vespa to face that rather pale-looking Antonio._

_"For the tenth time, yes, this is is perfectly safe."_

_Antonio gave a nervous nod, biting his lip as he grabbed the bottom of the seat. With a warm smile, Lovino turned back around and gently started the motor, taking the vehicle at a steady pace._

_Then, without warning, he accelerated, ripping down the street, making wild turns and spins. When he finally stopped, he found that the noise of the rushing wind and the screech of tires had been replaced by a string of Spanish obscenities that he hadn't heard since the days of the reconquista._

_Lovino glanced down at the shaky and clammy hands clamped firmly around his waist._

_Worth it._


	3. FrancexnyoEngland

**Request: **_Fem!England/France, please please please? With high school au?_

Alice huffed as she flipped her notebook shut, tossing her head back with her eyes shut. "It's too dark in here to even get any work done!"

Sitting besides her in the auditorium after school, Francis sighed as well, he chin resting in the palm of his hand. "Je sais, je sais," he said softly.

Cracking an eye open, Alice turned her head to glare at him. "Don't give me that rubbish," she retorted, nudging his foot with her own, rather crossly. "The only reason _I'm_ here is to keep you company, and the only reason _you're_ here is because you didn't get a part in the play, so you have to sit around here with the stage-crew, even though you don't have anything to do yet." With that, she gestured to the students rehearsing, running through lines and practicing their duets and solos.

Francis blinked at her with a blank expression. "Je sais," he repeated, this time with a bit of a scathing tone. "And Les Misérables is a musical, not a _play._"

Alice was not amused. "Either way, it was a book first," she grumbled, still glowering at him, but rested her head against his shoulder regardless. "And we still have to sit here in the dark for the next two hours and do nothing."

As a matter of fact, Francis had quite a lovely activity that the two could do to kill time in the dark, but said activity had nearly earned them detentions on several occasions, and Alice was certainly not in the mood for such a suggestion. So he reached out to put an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder gently. "Je suis désolé," he murmured softly, resting his chin on the top of her head. "After school on Monday, I'll take you out to that café you like? Next to the library?"

"And?"

Francis cringed slightly, then sighed in defeat, having hoped it wouldn't come to this.

"And I promise to refrain from tossing pebbles at your window Saturday evening whilst singing 'In My Life'."


	4. nyoPrUK AmeBela

**Request: **_Nyo!PrUK - in some AU other than canon, please, and AmeBel in any AU. 3_

The university library was a calm, quiet place, filled with the soft, low drone of flipping pages, scribbling pens and pencils against paper, and students murmuring back and forth. The afternoon sunlight trickled in through half-drawn windows, casting long shadows and illuminating floating specks of dust.

There was the loud and sudden scraping noise of a chair being pushed back, the rustle of somebody standing up, and hands slamming onto a table.

"You take that back."

Julchen blinked up across the table at Alice, running her eyes over the blonde's stern yet calm expression. But calm only as of now, for Julchen knew it could only take a split second for that face to turn livid, and should that point be reached, it would be in the best interests of everybody to evacuate the library. But the German girl had never bothered herself to be concerned with what was in the best interests of total strangers, and besides, provoking Alice was simply too irresistible.

"Sit down first, then I'll _think_ about taking it back," she cooed, quirking an eyebrow expectantly as she waited for Alice to take her seat. With a flair of her nostrils and a huff, she eventually did so, but not without crossing her arms and regarding Julchen as something she had found under her shoe.

"Take it back," Alice repeated, this time with a slightly narrowed gaze and a testy tone. This did nothing but elicit an amused chuckle from her, a shadow of her signature wicked grin working itself onto her lips.

"_Mein Gott_, you'd think I just said something nasty about your mother, or accused you of having crabs," Julchen cackled softly, leaning back in her chair. "All I did was share my opinion that-"

"William Shakespeare was a genius beyond his time and perhaps the most precise, clever, and smooth master of the English language," Alice interrupted with a scowl. "And if you refuse to appreciate his words or at least accept the fact that he is so much more than some 'dirty little poet', you can talk to the professor about changing partners."

Both brows raised in vague surprise over Alice's words, Julchen took a moment to study her curiously. After a moment, she smiled faintly.

"I take it you'd be up to the challenge of enlightening me to his profound genius and converting me to a believer than?"

"If you think you can handle it," Alice retorted, still eyeing the other girl crossly. At that, Julchen grinned widely.

"Challenge accepted. This Sunday, twelve o'clock, the café across from the music store. That work for you?"

Alice gave a short nod.

"Then it's a date

—

"Oh, come _on_, Natalya! You're such a mood kill!"

Natalya didn't bother gracing that remark with a scowl, she instead eyed her friend-who-happened-to-be-a-boy-but-wasn't-her-'boyfriend' sternly. "Then so be it, I'm a mood kill. I'm not going to that party."

Giving a loud and exasperated groan, Alfred let his shoulders slump, pouting like a toddler. "You never want to hang out with other people. And you know what? You say that you don't like being social because you know other people don't like you, but that's because you don't let them get to know you!"

Now, Natalya most definitely did not find Alfred's pout cute. Nor did she find the sentiment that he believed she was somebody other people could come to like touching. She didn't give him a response, she simply raised her chin and looked away, not wanting to discuss her reason for this occasion.

It wasn't often that Alfred could get frustrated, and it had to be something pretty serious. But he had just about had it with her refusal to let people see what a clever, funny, and caring person she could really be. "Give me one reason," he demanded. "One, valid reason why you can't have fun at that party and dance all night long and lose some inhibitions and chill out and enjoy yourself."

Sighing, Natalya decided to come out and say it. So she looked him in the eye, and completely dead-pan, said, "I'm bleeding from my vagina. And I'm out of Midol."

Alfred's gaze when completely blank, and for a moment, she wondered if she had broken him, caused something in his brain to short-circuit. But then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, smiling a bit.

"I'll be over at seven with chocolate. What movie am I bringing?"

And Natalya most definitely did not smile.


	5. FrancexnyoEngland PrussiaxnyoEngland

**Self-indulgent one sided France/nyo!England, superficial Prussia/nyo!England**

It burned him to see her with him. It burned to know that simply because he sided with Austria, she poured money into his hands and that the two of them marching side by side wretched apart any hope their odd family had.

It was sickening, like acid in his veins, when this… this intruder fought him in the throes of revolution, and on the battle-field, simply said her name, her real name, with an intimate tone he had no right to, with malice in his eyes and cruelty in his smirk, just to see him react. It boiled his blood, thinking of how she could do far better than that swine.

Worst of all was when the two of them beat him to the ground and ended his reign over Europe, knowing that he had inadvertantly provided the oppurtunity for the filthy leech to pull her closer to him so that he could take her as he pleased. Did she not see how he simply wanted her trust so he could use the profits of her empire to his advantage? No, she was far too smart for that. That sickened him the most; knowing that she was willing to quite literally roll over and lie down for him.

It was disgusting, the way that when they all attendended balls and galas, the way he would wisk her into a dance or brush his hand across her waist, always the red eyes locked on his with a triumphant gleam.

But as time wore on, her sly smiles of secrets and intimacy towards him fell into aggravation and annoyance, expressions of frustration and distrust.

Oh, how France couldn't wait for her to abandon the albino and her ties with the German Confederation. He longed for the day that France and Great Britain went to war against him, so that all the world would know at last whom she belonged to.


	6. AusHun

**Request: **_ficlet request: How about Aushun together for Christmas?_

"_Bitte_!"

Taking a deep breath, Roderich turned from his piano, fingers still dancing across the keys, giving the brunette woman his most withering look. "You're such a child. Pleading, even in my own language, will get you nowhere."

"It got me plenty of places last night," Elizabeta replied with a gleam in her eye, grinning from her seat next to their Christmas tree. But then she huffed, pouting at him. "I don't get why you have to be such a drag about this. It's Christmas!"

"It's Christmas Eve," the pianist responded calmly, returning his full attention to his piano. "You can open the presents I've gotten you _tomorrow_."

Rolling her eyes, she joined Roderich on his bench, placing her chin on his shoulder and kissing his neck. "Just one?" she cooed. "And I'll let you open a_ very special_ present too."

Now it was Roderich's turn to roll his eyes. "If I were to let you do that, there would be nothing special about tomorrow."

Realizing that her efforts were going to be met with nothing but German stubborness, Elizabeta and sighed and smiled, listening to his playing. "Will you at least play Christmas music?"

"Of course," he said, melting the music into his favorite piece of Christmas music, and the two sat side by side while snow drifted in the air outside, waiting for the light of dawn.


	7. FrUK

**Request: **_Hi, I heard you were taking ficlet requests again? I would like a FrUk fic. Francis being a demon and Arthur being an angel. (I don't see many of these) I prefer romance but friends is nice too. _

Arthur's wings flared out dangerously while he seethed. "How dare you," he said in a low, venomous tone. "I am a soldier of the heavenly host, and you're-"

"An incredibly attractive and tailed piece of ass," Francis answered in a coo, fingers tapping against the lips that had stolen a kiss from the angel. He began to circle the winged, pristine creature, tail twitching happily, smiling a predatory grin. "And you, _mon ange_, you enjoyed it."

And the the divine man's cheeks flushed red, but he said nothing to deny. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil. But there was nothing about kissing evil.


	8. FrUK 2

**Request: **_FrUK cardverse AU where Arthur and Francis are courting each other because they're being betrothed, but they end up falling in love with each other anyway. owo_

Pursing his lips, Francis tapped his fingers against the table in frustration. "You're making this rather difficult."

"Good," Arthur replied curtly, his arms crossed, utterly refusing to drop his hateful gaze. "I'll not stop until it's so difficult that it won't happen."

Francis stiffened rather offended. Yes, he understood that arranged marriages could be distasteful and Arthur clearly did not like the idea, but was Francis truly that undesirable?

"Well," he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, "we still have ten months. Perhaps I can warm that cold disposition of yours." He truly hoped so. So far, Arthur certainly did not see, like the type of person he could spend the rest of his life with…

"I doubt it," Arthur muttered, huffing as he glared at the floor.

_/nine months and 29 days later_

"Tomorrow," Arthur said softly, sighing happily as he ran his fingers over Francis's hand, lying pressed against him on the bed. Francis hummed, lazily pressing a kiss to the other's forehead.

Oh, the things that can happen in a few short months. Anger transforms into passion, stubborness changes to playfulness, and annoyances persist, but are ignored in favor of adoration.

"Tomorrow," Francis repeats, pulling his soon-to-be husband close, anxious for the sunrise.


	9. nyoFrUK

**Request: **_Nyotalia FrUK, Harry Potter AU_

Once more, the Ravenclaw common room was subject to the bickerings of Alice and Marianne, making snide remarks and sharp insults and slanderous accusations. But they were immune and they sighed waiting for it to end. However, all the seventh-year girls groaned, knowing that what they would be subjected to in the dark and shadowy dorm room at night would be far worse.


	10. Romanada

**Request: **_"Matthew," Lovino began, eyes fixed on his boyfriend's mouth (oh God, why did his lips have to look so /soft/), and ring weighing down heavily as if it were a pile of bricks in his pocket, "I have a question to ask you."_

"Hm?" Matthew blinked and turned to look at Lovino, who sat next to him on the park bench. They'd gone out for dinner and then a walk, and already the stars were out. He knew it looked like he'd been looking at the twinkling lights, but really, he was just thinking about making pancakes in the morning and using his unopened bottle of maple syrup. God, he was so excited. Was that weird? Probably. Maybe a little unhealthy, too. But anyway, Lovino said he had a question.

"Yeah?" he asked, tilting his head.

Lovino licked his lips nervously. Fuck. He was adorable. With his stupid curly hair and his stupid bright eyes and shit just do it Vargas just so it. Clearing his throat and half-stumbling to one knee on the pavement, he reached into his pocket for the ring. "Willyoumarryme?" he blurted, holding out the- Goddammit, the ring was still stuck in his pocket!

Now red in the cheeks, Lovino bit his lip while he fumbled in his pocket, trying to yank out the ring. Fucking tight designer pants, making it impossible to get things out of pockets. But they made his ass look so good.

Matthew, meanwhile, looked on with an expression somewhere between amusement and alarm. "Ah, Lovino, what exactly- ow!"

Looking up, Lovino swore. He had succeeded in pulling out the ring, but with such force that he had inadvertently flung it at Matthew's bottom lip. Why. Why did such horrible things always happen to him? He was a good person! (Except to Ludwig.) He was a loyal Catholic! (Well, except for the whole gay thing, but it's really all about perspective.)

"Shit!" he groaned. "Mattie, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I just…" Lovino sighed, picking up the ring and holding it out. Standing there, with his entire face and neck bright red, pathetically holding out the ring that had bruised Matthew's preciously soft bottom lip, he felt like crying.

Until he felt soft hands around his own, slender fingers gently taking the ring. Looking up, Lovino saw Matthew biting back a grin before sticking out his bottom lip.

"You know, I think a kiss would make it better."


	11. When France sneezes (FrUK)

**Request: **_Francis sneezed once. Twice. Three times. With an annoyed groan, the Frenchman lowered the tissue from his face with the intention of throwing it into the bin beside his bed that was already overflowing with white paper. He paused. A fourth sneeze. He hated being sick, he truly honestly did. Brushing back some strands of hair from his forehead, heated by fever, he groaned louder. "Au secoooours..!" He called out for his lover ever so melodramatically, his voice raspy thanks to all the coughing._

"For God's sake," Arthur muttered under his breath, tightening and straightening his tie in front of the bathroom mirror. "It's not the bloody bubonic plague." He let his voice rise a bit for the last part, hoping Francis might hear it. He hoped he did. It's not that Arthur didn't care, it was just that Francis happened to be a very high-maintenance lover. Arthur couldn't even stop to take a breath or groan or get himself a glass of water without the frog griping about how callous or uncaring he was.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But he felt entitled to it. Last night Francis had been writing in the covers, moaning "Oh mon Dieu, another revolution is coming, I can feel it in my bones! It's this sickness, Arthur, I'm ruined, something horrible is about to happen…!" and all the while kicked and swatted at Arthur's exhausted body. It was just around midnight that Arthur had finally caved and slumped out of the room to the couch. Even then, Francis' nose-blowing and coughing had echoed against the walls like bullets, keeping Arthur from sleep. And deep down he knew that it wasn't Francis' fault, but he couldn't fight the irritation that weighed down on his shoulders.

And apparently, his eyes, as well. Leaning in closer to the mirror, he groaned inwardly at the sight of dark circles under his eyes. Lovely. He got to go to a meeting with Germany not only feeling, but looking like shit. Inhaling deeply, Arthur stepped into the bedroom and braced himself.

"Arthur," Francis called, pleading for attention yet again. "I can't believe you're actually leaving, I thought we'd finally reached a new stage in our relationship where we really cared about each other, can't you just call your boss and cancel or make one of your brother's do it, you can't be so cruel as to leave me here…!"

The man went on like that for quite a long time, all the while Arthur did his damnedest to tune him out as he emptied the trash, replaced the tissue box, and flung open the curtains. Enough was enough. He had spent all of yesterday coddling and tolerating Francis, only to be met with… well, the very French part of Francis which made him so insufferable. For crying out loud, it was just a cold. You'd think the man who had been on the more unfortunate side of both World Wars would have a higher tolerance.

Francis followed Arthur into the kitchen, the comforter of the bed wrapped stubbornly around his shoulders. He threw himself onto the couch dramatically, glaring at the man's back. He sneezed, and put quite a bit of emphasis on sniffling and rubbing his nose. But after several centuries, Arthur had finally developed a resistance to Francis' theatrics. Even the pouty face. Scratch that, especially the pouty face.

"Listen very carefully," Arthur began, his voice calm and steady. "I'm going to the family house in Coventry to pick up what I need for the meeting." Arthur and his brothers, Blake and Evan, while they each had apartments or flats in their capitols, shared a house that they used when they were tame enough to get together on holidays and when they wanted to work without their bosses breathing down their neck. He filled the kettle with water and placed in on the stove and then rummaged through the cabinets. "I will call to check up on you when I get on the flight to Munich. Once I'm done, I'll call again before I head back home. And then I'll be over tomorrow."

Holding up the box of tea that clearly hadn't been touched since the last time Arthur had visited, he waved it a bit, making sure that Francis saw it before placing it on the table. "And for the last time, drink some bloody tea."

Grabbing his coat, Arthur sighed, pausing on his way out to kiss Francis on the top of his head, ignoring the withering look of hatred shot his way. "Try not to hurt yourself," he said, closing the door behind him.

—  
Over the course of only a few hours, Arthur was longing for Francis' apartment, even with its sick and infuriating inhabitant. And it was just the politicians driving him up the wall; somehow, Prussia had managed to tag along with Germany to the meeting, and Arthur was ready to blow his own brains out. He just wouldn't shut up! All these inane and pointless questions, each asked with a shit-eating grin. When he was done from rubbing both of his temples with each hand, Arthur looked up, an expression somewhere between furious and exhausted plastered on his face. God, this meeting was making him sick, he could feel it. His head was pounding, his breathing was heavy, his throat was tight, and he was ready to pass out.

When it was finally over, Germany came up to him with a look of sincere regret. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said. "But Gilbert's been going stir-crazy and the last thing I needed was him causing some kind of scandal."

But the weary Arthur only gave a half-hearted "It's fine", as they shook hands, and Germany sighed, still feeling bad about the whole affair.

"I owe you one," he sighed. "And I'd offer to take you out for a beer, but I have to take Gilbert to the airport, he's spending the weekend in Denmark, and I'm going to dinner with Roderich and Feliciano…"

"'S fine," Arthur repeated, but this time with vigor and sincerity. "I'd really just like to go home. I'm wrecked."

With that they said good-bye, shaking hands once more before leaving.

—  
Ludwig, Roderich, and Feliciano were at a restaurant in Vienna, and although Ludwig had quite been looking forward to this evening, he just wanted to go home and take a hot shower. His face felt slack and he just ached all over. He couldn't even think straight, and barely noticed when Roderich began talking to him.

"Ludwig, are you even listening to me, boy?" Roderich asked, sniffing with disdain. "You've had the same vacant expression on your face for ten minutes. It's very unlike you."

"Don't call me 'boy'," he snapped irritatedly. It seemed as though they had reached the point where the Austrian's pretentious attitude finally got to him. Odd, it usually took longer than that.

"Oh, it's not like you were saying anything important," Feliciano interjected quickly, setting down his glass of water. "You were just complaining about Gilbert." Setting his glass down, he tilted his head, frowning a bit. "Wait… whose glass is whose? I think I drank from the wrong one…"

—  
"So then I said, 'West, maybe if you stopped using so much fucking lube on your hair, maybe you'd be able to get laid more'!" In their drunken state, the only two men in the Copenhagen bar, found this riotously funny and roared with laughter, the rest of the clientele having cleared out when Gilbert and Mathias began the karaoke.

Laughing deliriously, the two doubled over and slammed their fists on the bar, only stopping when one of their beers crashed to the floor.

"Shit, was that-" hic "-mine or yours?" Mathias asked.

"What's mine is yours and whats mine is mine," Gilbert replied with a grin. "I mean, what's yours is yours and… Screw it." He took a gulp of it, and then passed it to Mathias. "Bottoms up."

—  
When Roderich returned home, he ran into a very special surprise.

"You're home early," Elizabeta cooed, getting up off the couch and slinking towards him. "I didn't have time to set up properly."

"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he slipped his arms around her waist. "Tell me, what exactly where you planning on 'setting up'?"

"How about I just show you," she said softly, and as she leaned in to kiss him, Roderich prepared himself for a night of bliss.

Until he sneezed right in Elizabeta's face.

—  
"Come on, get up, you lazy bum!" It may have been rather hypocritical coming from Lovino's mouth, but he didn't care. His brother had to be awake to bring him to the airport in half an hour so he could get on his flight to Spain.

Stirring in his bed, Feliciano sat up a bit, rubbing his head, his face gaunt and droopy. "Sorry, fratello, I'm not feeling well," he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. At that, Lovino raised his eyebrows. That couldn't be good.

"Has anything happened lately?" he asked, worriedly pressing his palm to his brother's forehead, then quickly pulled it back. Shit, he was burning up! But Feliciano shook his head.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he said, getting up and rustling in his closet for clothes. "Ludwig wasn't feeling well either last night, I probably just got it from him."

"I keep telling you not hang out with him," Lovino said smugly, shaking his head, proceeding to lecture his younger brother all the way to the airport.

—  
"Shut the hell up already!" Lukas finally snapped, hurling a throw pillow right at Mathias' coughing face. "Enough! Take a lozenge or something!"

In the kitchen, Emil snickered from where he was playing cards at the table with Tino and Berwald. Tino opened his mouth as though to reprimand Lukas, but thought better of it and just shrugged while Berwald lifted an eyebrow in amusment.

Throwing a look of resentment at Lukas, Mathias suddenly lunged across the couch at him, coughing loudly in his face. "Cut it out!" Lukas yelled, swatting at his face. "You'll get me sick!"

Soon enough, the other three joined in on the squabble, initially trying to pry Mathias off of Lukas, but then turning on him as he gave them the same treatment.

—  
"Are you okay, dear?" Emma asked, tilting her head in concern. "Listen, if you're not up for 'Girl's Day', I'll definitely understand."

Looking across the outside café table she and Belgium were sitting at, Elizabeta shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "No, I'm fine," she insisted, hating how congested she sounded. "We hardly ever get time to do this-"

"Because if it's that time of month," Emma cut her off, "I can take you to my favorite chocolate shop, even the cashier there is candy, if you know what I mean."

Smiling weakly, Elizabeta took Emma's hand and squeezed it. "You're too good, you know that?"

—  
"Screw that," Lovino said grumpily, watching Antonio get dressed. "So you can screw me. You and Donato are fucking neighbors, you can reschedule!"

"Exactly, we're neighbors, I'll be back before you can miss me," Antonio replied in a soothing tone. He turned to face Lovino, about to continue, but hesitated at the other's twisted expression and the quick, short breaths he was taking. "Mio Dio!" he exclaimed, eyebrows jumping. "Lovi, if you're going to cry…!"

But Lovino shook his head furiously, grabbed a pillow, pulled it to his face, and sneezed the loudest sneeze he'd ever made in his life.

"…I want that cleaned by the time I get back, comprendo?"

—  
"Eduard, are you sure you don't want to go home?" Toris asked yet again. "Because like it or not, you have a cold."

"I know," the blonde mumbled, snuffling and rubbing at his nose. Swallowing nervously, Raivis shifted his chair away from Eduard a bit. "I think I got it from Tino. We were hanging out yesterday."

"Well that's what you get for forgetting who you are," Toris said, unable to keep from smiling a bit. "A third of the Baltic Trio, not a sixth of the Nordic Five."

"Oh please," Eduard snorted. "You're the one who keeps asking like a Slav, always hanging around Belarus and Poland."

"Hey! Poland is the one who hangs around me! Speaking of which, he'll be here tonight, to 'do my hair' for when I see Belarus tomorrow, so unless the two of you want your nails done, you best clear out."

—  
"You need to leave now."

Emma pulled her face off of her brother's table, wiping the tissue by her nose one more time. "Carry me," she replied miserably.

—  
"W-wait, don't-" Toris broke into another coughing fit. "Don't go!"

"I have a… a 'meeting' with Big Brother tomorrow," Belarus responded coldly, getting up from the restaurant table. "And Katyusha will be there, so for once, it will be nice. I won't ruin it by getting sick."

—  
"You did not just sneeze in my fast," Donato seethed at Antonio through gritted teeth.

—  
Staring at their younger sister, one with concern and one with suspicion, Ivan and Katyusha winced as she sneezed on her plate of food.

—  
"I hate you. I fucking hate you," Niall groaned, sprawled on the couch with his three British brothers, empty tissue boxes scattered everywhere.

"Goddammit, Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur whined.

—

When France sneezes, all of Europe catches a cold.


	12. RusAme 2

**Request: **_Head canon: when he can, Alfred prefers using Ivan instead of a ladder to reach higher placed things._

There were a lot of things Ivan had done or participated in that he regretted or didn't want to do, but he never though that having Alfred's crotch in his face was one of them.

Taking in a heavy sigh, Ivan huffed as he shifted his weight a bit, beginning to grow sore from holding up Alfred so he could fix the ceiling fan, his arms around Alfred's thighs, just below his butt. "I'm buying you a ladder for Christmas," he mumbled.

But Alfred only laughed in return. "You love me," he said in a sing-song voice, thrusting his pelvis into Ivan's face, almost making Ivan drop him.

It seemed like it took Alfred forever to fix the goddamn fan, during which a screwdriver and a wrench were dropped on Ivan's head and he was forced to endure multiple "How many heroes does it take to screw in a light bulb" jokes (all of which were horrible). Taking in a deep, steadying breath, Ivan calmed himself with the promise of fucking Alfred viciously into the mattress when it was all over.


	13. FrUK 3

**Request for punk!England and ballerina!France**

Arthur Kirkland had no idea how it started.

He knew it had been a Saturday night at The Crown, the club where he did some acoustic engineering work and occasionally played back-up or replacement guitar for the bands that performed. He knew he had been hanging out with some friends of some friends (his friends being Donato, Mathias, and Erik, the next branch being some blokes that Arthur recognized from other such nights, but rarely spoke to).

He remembered sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of rum, when he noticed the other fellows leaning in close to each other a few seats down, whispering and laughing like school girls. When Arthur looked directly at them and raised an eyebrow, which only served to make them laugh louder, as though he'd supplied the punchline to a joke, leading him to the assumption that he was the source of their entertainment.

Eventually, the three idiots pulled their heads apart and the one in the middle sat up straight, grinning at Arthur with a smile like… Well, he'd never really seen a look like that. He hated it and impulsively wanted to punch it right off of his stupid stubbly face. Still smiling that insufferable smile, the man leaned in towards Arthur to make his words better heard amidst the pulsing of the music and the din of the crowd.

"_Excusez-moi_, _cher_, we were just wondering if you ever lose any of your eyebrow-piercings in those caterpillars of yours," the man said, and his throaty French accent rattled between Arthur's ears like the ball of a pinball machine.

"Well you tell me, mate, do you ever lose brain cells from the sound of your own voice?"

The man only grinned wider.

—

His name was Francis Bonnefoy. He was a _premier danseur noble_, which Arthur was able to conclude was just a really prissy title for a ballerina (Arthur wonders if he has to out his hair in a bun). The other two men had drifted off, leaving Arthur and Francis to exchange more pleasant insults. Francis continued to smile, although it became more of a satisfied smirk, which only spurred Arthur on, determined to make that expression falter. But as odd as it was, Arthur was quite enjoying himself.

They walked around the fringes of the dance floor, Francis flirting and being outrageously suave, Arthur making rude remarks. After a while, it seems as though Francis has grown bored or completely exasperated with Arthur, and he melts into the crowd of dancers.

Arthur watches him.

He doesn't know what exactly it is that occurs or happens to him, what he thinks or feels.

However, he does think that Francis must be something magnificent to watch on stage.

—

Francis Bonnefoy knows exactly how it happened.

It was a Saturday night at The Crown with Antonio and Gilbert and some other acquaintances. One of whom was that eternally grumpy young Englishman who looked like he'd just walked out of the 70s. He always looked ready for a fight and he had a certain look about him that Francis just knew he was a great time in bed. His name was something like Albert or Archie or something with an A, and as oddly attractive as he was, Francis believed that if the piercings and the clothes were taken away, he would have the soft face of an angel.

It had been light-hearted teasing that had led to the confrontation, and Francis had been thrilled to discover that the man pushed back at him, even when he turned on the charm. Every time he made a move, a compliment or an insinuation, he was greeted with coldness or hot-tempered responses. He loved it.

—

If a career could be made out of punk rock, Arthur Kirkland had figured out how. He worked part-time for a record company, part-time as something that had to do with acoustics, and part-time as a guitar for hire. Francis would love to see him dressed for a concert.

He doesn't quite pay attention to what he says when it's his turn to make an insult. He's too preoccupied with wondering what piercings Arthur may have beneath his clothes and what tattoos he may have and if his hair is as coarse as it looks or if it's actually soft. But it would be a waste of a night to spend all his time trying to crack one man, so he slips into the dance floor.

Francis has never had a problem getting what he wanted from people.

He hasn't made up his mind about how to treat Arthur to get him to open up.

But the one thought, the one feeling that sparks in his mind at the thought of Arthur is  
_want_.

—

They meet at The Crown a few more times. They don't plan it with each other, but they certainly return to the club wondering if they'll see each other. Arthur let's more of Francis' more lewd comments slide, and Francis lets Arthur press their legs together.

Arthur begins to watch the multi-colored lights reflect off of Francis' hair, as though the strands of his hair were each mirrors. One day, he wears leggings to the club and Arthur stares unashamedly.

Francis notices obscure literary references that Arthur slips into the conversation. Everything from the cliche Shakespeare to Lock to Desplat to Hugo to freaking Rohling. He is thoroughly fascinated.

—

While Arthur is performing with a local band, he notices Francis standing in the back. That special look is back on his face, and Arthur finds that lately, it makes his heart lurch.

Afterwards, Arthur makes his way towards him and realizes that Francis is looking at him with a look he can only describe as hungry.

He remembers that he isn't wearing a shirt.

—

Arthur decides to return the favor and does some looking into Francis' ballet company and attends a performance of Swan Lake. He is completely enraptured and unreasonably jealous of the woman in the role of Odette.

As the dancers take their bows, Francis makes eye contact with Arthur and makes a face like a deer caught in headlights.

In the lobby of the theater, as Arthur is worrying that maybe he shouldn't have gone without telling Francis, Francis walks up to Arthur and kisses him.

—

It seems the only way to get that ridiculous smile off of Francis's face is to slam him up against a wall and kiss him.

Arthur's hair is in fact very soft when you grab it and twist your fingers through it harshly.

A coarse tune of muffled but distinguished punk floats through the air, but Arthur is instead to listening to the sound of Francis' breath as he teaches him to dance, toes poking out from the hems of jeans on a carpeted floor.


	14. FrUK 4

**Request: **_4 that writing prompt dohickey; fruk, Can we pretend I didn't just say that?_

Arthur could feel the breath he sucked in vividly; the taste of the air, the slight movement against his tongue, and how it dampened in the cavern of his mouth, staying there and growing stagnant as he didn't dare dare swallow it or exhale, not moving with his mouth hanging open.

At their outside table at a Parisian café, the noise and movement of the people passing by on the street seemed to muffle and blur and time seemed to slow as all Arthur became aware of was the air in his mouth, the thumping of his heart, and every small movement of the figure sitting across the table from him. Oh God, the words had just slipped out before he realized they were even a thought. He had no idea what was going to happen now, but he feared the worse.

The hand bringing a forkful of food towards his mouth simply stopped halfway to its destination, and eyes that were a perfect shade of blue widened before moving to the side to look directly at Arthur, the head the eyes belonged to still angled towards his plate. Lips curled ever so slightly as the mouth underwent only the very first stage of forming an expression, giving no clue as to what Arthur should brace himself for. That whole process seemed to last an eternity to the man now sweating profusely under his thick brows, and his companion held his expression their for what seemed like an eternity more.

Blue eyes turning back to their original position, he completed his fork's journey to his mouth, chewing and swallowing his food before turning his gaze to Arthur's face, now bearing the expression of a deer captured in the headlights of an 18-wheeler, tilting his head and blinking.

"_Excusez-moi_, what was that?"

"Nothing," Arthur said quickly, shifting in his seat, finding his metal chair entirely too small and uncomfortable. "I didn't say- "

"Arthur," he was interrupted by a tone that was gentle, but was the kind that was too gentle and implied the owner was capable of unspeakable cruelness, "I asked you what you said."

Arthur took a deep breath, bringing a hand to his face to rub over his features, knowing he wouldn't be able to say anything at all now if he didn't stop shaking and twitching. In a soft voice unlike any he had ever used in his life, he repeated the words that had so condemned him. "_J'adore Paris_."

Immediately, a wide smile ripped its way across Francis Bonnefoy's face. It was a smile that can only be described as a smile, for it was all the things a smile can be: victorious, smug, predatory, thrilled, and purely joyful.

"_Oui_, that's what I thought you said."


End file.
